Tag Archives: Nature of Man

The Will

Man’s will is only free within his realm,
To chose only that within his gaze.
Foolishly his will thinks his is the helm,
And blindly stumbles on for days.

He will boldly say, in his foolish pride,
That which only sovereigns can know,
“I will tell them all when I will die,
I will decide when it’s my time to go.”

But his air will be for not.
For he cannot see nor does dream
Of the place his fathers forgot.
Beyond his sight lays, a holy theme.

The sacred, man cannot conceive,
For out of his picture it lives
Nor in it will he believe,
Until within him it lives.

by Ryan Wormald

The Lonely Path

There is a path understood by none
But he that walks its way.
A path only traveled by some
Barely visible in the day.
This path isn’t wide nor groomed
Nor is easy to walk upon
The trees are mean in their bloom
And sing a sad sorry song.
Men who tread a path this hard
Are often mocked by the throng
But there is a time not too far
When these men will be gone.
Then this lonely path will disappear
Will grow its foliage down
For no man will be walking there
For no man will be found.


-Coram Deo

Purest Love a Sonnet

We stand to fall and live within defeat,
Our life is cursed and now can only hope
Our cries do not forget whom they’re to meet.
Oh, that my cries would bring a saving rope

To we, and from my misery save me.
We flounder alone in water so deep it drowns
Our souls, our life, and all we were to be,
But what is this my eyes doth see, a crown

That shines with life for me, a face that bleeds,
With pain it screams, a love of pure display.
Who is this King who plants purest of seeds?
I now am sure it t’was for Him we prayed.

The King who left behind an empty tomb,
The King who saved us out of certain doom.

by Ryan Wormald


My heart is soaked in petrol
And I am in fear of many things
For all that surrounds me
Seems to burst into flames.

There is a fire in her bosom
There is a fire in her eyes
If I get too near to her
I might catch a fire.

Look at all that money there
At those little feet a dancing
There is much danger there
And an evil uprising.

Oh those little flames are hard to see
And if I get too close, that it will be;
My end will too quickly come
And in fire my sin will consume me.

Be careful child of the fire
For around us it lies
Seeking petrol to burn
And flesh to turn to lye.

Our hearts at any second
May burst into flames
Not sparks to be put out
But unholy consuming flames.

My precious friend I implore
This you must do and find
If you wish to live next door
To this petrol world of crime.

There is a red water
From a side it once flowed
And there must your heart live
Underneath that holy flow.

For in this red water
Lies many attributes
In it fire may spread no farther
And in it the heart becomes new.
The fire that burns all around
In eyes and hands and pretty things.
In this water does drown
And cease their dreadful burnings.

When a heart in petrol lay
Meets with water so pure.
There night becomes day
And flames loose their lure,

And there a heart won’t
As easily like to burn
And there it becomes anew
As water’s attributes it learns.

Then in the end we find
A heart a fresh anew
Now very hard to turn to lye
As dead things become new.

by Ryan Wormald

Oh the Beauty of the Sky

Oh the beauty of the sky
This world and this time
In it is felt the pulse
A loving rhyme

Once I was blind
Could see no truth
Held a snake
Felt its poison tooth

How sad it is
The pain that is felt
When light hits your eye
And leaves a welt

I felt the ground
And the covering sky
Felt the falling rain
And gasped a sigh

To die I thought
Would be good
I would leave tonight
If I could

The sight I beheld
Wasn’t grand or pretty
Until his hand
Was offered to me

You could almost say
That line in the sand
He far crossed
He walked my land

It was as if I died
Saw visions of stars
And blood and life,
And then those scars

How wonderful the sight
The view I did see
Of blood that flowed
And it covered me.

Oh the love in a touch
The warmth in a breath
The joy in a kiss
The beating of a chest

Beauty in pain
Love in a sigh
It wasn’t felt for me
Tell to me He died

by Ryan Wormald

Lost Fools

What do you seek or wish to find?
Is it in a week, or about time?
Do you want more or less,
And would it slant the press?

Tomorrow would leave you blind,
If you only could keep your mind.
The cake in your hand has been lost and is gone,
And your stomach has been empty for far too long.

Honesty will only discover what you seek,
And It will have to last you more than a week.
The hour is short, and will likely be gone,
And you might be left, alone thinking to long.

Apathy Kills Herself

Go ahead and burn.
Soak yourself and ignite.
Its about time you fry,
And crawl after the worm.

Every step is closer still,
Deeper into Hell you go.
Always seeking after the thrill,
And going out for the show.

You spit at all the good,
And yet hope for the best.
Why can’t you do as you should,
And stop beating your chest.

Your face makes me sicker still.
While you have lost the race,
And victory doesn’t come in a pill,
Nor can you buy your place.

Apathy, you though, was nice,
But for it you will pay time.
Your closed mind feeds your vice,
While false beliefs compound your crime.

By your withheld hand,
Did many an innocent die.
Your complacent demands
Helped their killers lie.

You told yourself and them,
That life is found outside.
What a fanciful ugly whim,
And a sure way to die.

Can’t you see the sight.
You’re the one to blame.
You’ve killed all that’s right;
Have brought us all to shame.

This world in which you fight
Has no innocence still.
You have not improved its plight
But rather have helped it kill.

Give up your selfish climb
See your not the cure,
Perhaps you’ll escape the lime,
If you only look to the Pure.

by Ryan Wormald

The Man in Black

One morning I went for a stroll
Just a walk, with no place to go.
While on this outing, I heard some shouting
“Hurry up, man, you’ll miss the show!”

The tone was mocking almost squawking
And I felt it cool and chill my spine.
I hesitated while my response was debated,
“How should I reply to such an insolent whine?”

When I turned reeling with a feeling
From surprise, I saw his cold hard eyes.
Peering almost leering, they were a black night sky,
And in those flies I beheld my demise.

“What”! I yelled “is the meaning of this greeting?”
All the while I was caught in his eyes.
Not blinking, hardly breathing he slowly replied.
“I am here, have no fear, to be your demise.”

Now you must understand my surprise.
There I am walking, not with talking, by
This man, whom, on seemingly a whim has cried;
Whose eyes have prophesied to be my demise.

“Good sir” I asked with an attempt to pacify.
“What have I done to receive such a look and cry?”
His hard finger, like a long skeleton’s bone
Stabbed at my chest, at my heart it pressed.

Coldly said he “I your demise will be.”
Still standing, I was staring like a herring
Who is sadly peering down a clearing
At the gun that flashes life before the eyes.

It was at this time, that I realized, my demise.
His eyes did not lie, but prophesied right
To my mind, exactly what he wanted to sigh.
And this sigh my courage it did buy.

My fear now started to appear, but slowly
Like a slow killing disease it first took my knees.
My knees now knocking, I now felt my chest locking
And I knew surely now I cannot really flee.

Filled with a fear that frees the mind,
I, for a time lost control of that mind,
Which now danced with dreams of death, and lies,
Sorrowed by my own demise, and those flies.

Laughing, now I would try him to pacify.
Mingled with a cry my words did fly.
“Good sir, I implore you, patient with me be,
But I couldn’t ignore the first statement you explored.”

Trying now, so desperate to free my eyes
From those flies which prophesied my demise.
I though I could distract the one
Who would or could possibly bring my demise to me.

“At the first of our meet on this street,
Your warned me with a shout to watch out,
Or I would have passed by without so much a cry,
A show from which I don’t even know.”

“My good man said he,” with a grin and a gloat
“I only said that to catch your poor goat.”
“And now it is caught and forever will rot
For from me your soul cannot be wrought.”

Shrieking almost slinking, I wished to run away
Not with him or his whim did I want to play.
But he only repeated that I was defeated,
And now I could not help but to believe it.

It consumed me, and struck down my tyranny,
For now, from him, I could not want to flee.
My eyes did change dark like the night skies,
Like those accursed filthy flies of demise.

It was at this dark time, my entrapped mind,
Heard a word, or three, it heard something speaking to me.
Was it my thought, or from the ill man wrought?
These words that were speaking while peaking in me.

“It was me” was the words that were tearing,
Tearing almost wearing my soul for me.
But what could it mean for my sea,
These three who would now not let me be.

Repeating, they were beating all his gleaming
And all the while preventing me from dreaming.
My eyes lost his flies and at once saw the sky,
It was starry gleaming, and full of meaning.

Now looking here and there turning everywhere,
I found that the man in black was nowhere.
He had disappeared and left me somewhere,
It was near my home, where I started my stroll.

As I went in I paused along with a tear,
At my parlor’s dark wood and glass mirror,
The one in which my reflection never ceased to appear,
It was here and there where we would long stare.

As I look up to see my old friend again,
In the mirror that tells me no lies,
I saw my demise, looking at me with a grin.
And his eyes burned dark to flies.

Dreams of night skies and pitiful lies took
My mind and for that time I say the sky.
All reasoning did flee and with heart beating,
My mind was repeating, “My demise, my demise.”

Before I could cry I did realize that in one eye,
His flies followed mine perfectly by and by,
And it was at that moment, at that time,
I realized that his flies were mine.

And now forever I walk with myself and me;
That cold dark man will never from me leave.

by Ryan Wormald